


Sleepless // Sendorma

by FishiesGoneFiction



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishiesGoneFiction/pseuds/FishiesGoneFiction
Summary: Rimmer suffers from nightmares. Lister wants to help.
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer
Comments: 19
Kudos: 40





	1. The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a Red Dwarf fanfic so I'm mainly testing the waters here xD Hope you like it! :)

Rimmer had been prone to nightmares in the past, especially just after The Accident. Lister didn’t want to bring them up at first, fearing it would turn into a conversation about ‘feelings’, or at least, Rimmer would suspect that Lister would want to talk about his ‘feelings’. This was unthinkable, naturally. Neither man was prepared to subject themselves to that.

But time had passed, and so too had the nightmares, for the most part. The odd one descended upon Rimmer occasionally, just like they did Lister.

But these nightmares were different, and they were constant. Every night for the past week and a half, Rimmer had been lost in a deep trance of anguish and despair. He’d call out in half-delirious mumbles, only the odd name and word Lister could pick out. The panicked and whimpering tone he rattled them off with signalled the dreams were anything but pleasant.

The screaming woke Lister every time with a start. The young man would bolt upright in bed, calling out for whatever the commotion was, only to be met with Rimmers groans and mumbles as he tossed and turned in his sleep.

Past the sense of false bravado, Lister confronted Rimmer about the dreams, but the hologram always evaded the question. Either he’d have a ‘very important task’ to undertake, or he’d deflect the blame on Lister, accusing him of imagining things.

“Rimmer, you’re loud enough to rouse coma patients,” Lister pressed the matter over a late breakfast. The bags around his eyes told the story plainer than any words could.

Rimmer, donned in his blue holosuit, had been up for hours, and was now using a level to make sure that all their bunk room appliances were perfectly straight. Why was he doing this? Lister did not care to ask. Lister didn’t care about anything other than trying to get a good night’s sleep for once.

“I’ve seen football fans with a greater sense of calm than you. What the smeg is going on?”

Rimmer didn’t look up from analysing the fridge. He was determined it was on a slant, even if the level proved otherwise. “Lister, you’re obviously having some weird dreams. Too much curry, I say. Can’t you go down to the medi-bay and get some pills for it instead of whitering on at me?”

“ _ You’re _ the one that needs help, ya smegger,” Lister groaned. This was going nowhere. Again.

During the day, Rimmer was his usual annoying tickety-boo self. At night, all his troubles and turmoil came back to haunt him.

It was strange why these nightmares seemed to be haunting him now, and with such violence. Years had passed since The Accident, after all. The anniversary of Rimmer’s death had passed not that long ago, however. The alignment was likely more than just a coincidence.

A scream. Lister opened his eyes with a shock, frustratedly wiping the sleep from his eyes. Checking the watch beside him, he just about made out the neon dial: 3:45.

Sinking back into the pillow, Lister pressed the cotton tightly against his ears, trying to drown out the continuous whimpers and cries from his bunkmate.

“Rimmer, for smeg’s sake, can’t I just have  _ one _ night?” Lister groaned, but hologram was far too under to hear him call out.

“I’m so sorry…” The whimper was faint, masked in the croak of a… a cry?

Furrowing his brow, Lister leaned over the bunk to try and look down at Rimmer. “Rimmer man, you okay?”

What followed most certainly  _ was _ a cry. Rimmer was… was crying in his sleep.

This was new.

Guilt washed over Lister. He admitted to himself that perhaps he’d been more preoccupied with trying to get Rimmer to shut up for selfish reasons, when in fact it was clear now his bunkmate was struggling.

“Rimmer…” Lister winced, but received no reply.

“It’s all… my fault…” the hologram continued, thrashing about in his bunk. The sound of crashing sheets filled the small bunk room. “I didn’t mean… why did I have to…”

Hopping down from his bed, Lister leaned over Rimmer, hoping the looming shadow might wake the hologram. When he saw Rimmer caked in sweat, Lister’s heart sank. He didn’t even know holograms could sweat. It hadn’t coated the sheets, but instead drenched Rimmer as a manifestation of his anxiety.

Lister rested a light hand on Rimmer’s shoulder, but the hologram knocked it off with an unconscious jolt. “Useless! Failure… failed again… they’re all dead… because of…”

Frowning, Lister was at a loss, staring helplessly down at his nightmare-addled crewmate.

The next utterance from Rimmer really drove the knife through his heart. “Lister… I’m so sorry…”

That was the last straw for Lister. The action became more out of instinct than anything else, but he shuffled over to sit down next to Rimmer on the edge of the bed frame. When the hologram didn’t stir, he opened up the covers and slipped inside the duvet, wrapping an arm over the sleeping man.

His presence was met with a faint mumble. Lister shushed him warmly, lightly rubbing a thumb across his nightshirt. Rimmer seemed to soothe at this, falling into a soundless sleep. No more whimpers, or cries, or screams.

Soon after, Lister fell asleep next to him, undisturbed for the rest of the night.

It was the best night’s sleep the two men had had in weeks.


	2. The Morning After

Rimmer awoke the next morning at ten o’clock thanks to the chirpy sound of the alarm clock. It had been snoozed three times by now, but finally Rimmer conceded, shutting it up with a groggy, “Off!”

He tried to stretch, but was given pause. There was a weight and warmth around him that far surpassed the normal drapings of the ship-issue duvet, which hardly would see you through any mildly chilly condition. No, this time, there was something stopping him from moving off the bed.

Blinking twice, Rimmer tried to dislodge the sleep from around his eyes, his arms too trapped to do anything to assist the matter.

That was when Rimmer looked down and saw an arm that was not his own. An arm considerably darker in colour, much hairer too. It bulged with strength and muscle unbefitting of his lithe hologramatic form.

Rimmer started to panic, trying to wrack his mind for how he’d ended up in this predicament. The first one, naturally, was the overconsumption of alcohol. But Rimmer felt fine - no hangover symptoms, no lingering whiskey on his breath.

Had Lister torched his bunk? Spilled so much curry that there was no conceivable way he could have slept in his bed but was too tired to find another room down the hall? Plausible, but last time that happened Lister had made his home on the floor. And all the times before that too.

_ What happened? _ Rimmer mused, growing increasingly claustrophobic as he was trapped between Lister’s sleeping frame and the wall of the bunk. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t going to try and carefully climb over him to get out. That left too many awkward possibilities, none that dared be thought into. No, instead, he resolved to close his eyes, maybe try and catch another hour’s sleep, and pretend like this never happened. With any luck, Lister would wake up, crawl out of bed and pretend the same thing.

Lister awoke an hour later, far earlier than he usually slept in. In a way, the hologram was thankful - he was climbing the walls waiting for the man beside him to leave so he could get up and start the day. This had thrown his whole day’s schedule on his ear. Now how will he find the time to organise the ship’s supply of war re-enactment films by the flag colours of the victors?

With a groan, Lister began to shuffle and stretch, forcing Rimmer into an even tighter squeeze against the wall. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and continued his futile efforts at pretending to be asleep.

The sudden lightness beside him indicated that Lister had vacated the mattress.

_ Excellent, _ Rimmer thought.  _ Just another fifteen or so minutes ‘sleeping’, then I- _

He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, followed by a drowsy scouse accent saying, “Rimmer man, get up. You know you get smegged off when you sleep in too long.”

Groaning internally, Rimmer cursed the nearest planets.  _ Why couldn’t he have stuck to the plan? _

It was an unspoken plan, but still, Rimmer was irked that it hadn’t gone his way.

Then, it only got worse for him as Lister said, “We need to talk, you and me.”

More silent curses followed. Lister sounded serious. What did he need to talk about? Would he at least shed some light on why the hologram’s single bunk was occupied by two last night?

A part of Rimmer didn’t want to know. This was the man he was stuck with day and night, and even on a ship six miles long, such awkwardness would travel the distance.

So, as he normally did when he was confused and irritated in equal measure, Rimmer decided to go on the offensive. Swinging around to sit up on the edge of the steel frame, he said, “What is there to talk about? Other than the fact than you encroached on my bunk like some touch-starved college virgin, that is. Are you really that desperate for company?”

Lister had opened up his breakfast lager by now, taking a large gulp before rolling his eyes at Rimmer’s remark. He didn’t want to dignify that with a response. Instead, he remained resolute to the script he’d planned out last night before drifting to sleep. “Tell me about your nightmares.”

Scoffing, Rimmer got up from the bunk and commanded his holo-watch to dress him in his usual blue hologram attire.

“Are you seriously still on about that nonsense?” Rimmer’s voice was high pitch and insecure. He fiddled with his cuffs. “Honestly Lister, if only you’d channel this energy into something productive. Perhaps your flights of fantasy could make a good airport novel?”

Rimmer went to exit the bunkroom, feeling like a full-on escape would work better than any rebuttal. But as he went to slip out, Lister blocked his path.

“Sit down, Rimmer,” Lister commanded, but his voice was soft and full of compassion.

Though annoyed, Rimmer complied. He didn’t exactly want to - it was more of a subconscious effort. He took a seat at one end of their little breakfast desk, while Lister took residence at the other.

After taking another generous helping of lager, Lister repeated, “Tell me about your nightmares.”

“I’m not having nightmares,” Rimmer maintained, scratching at the inside of his palm with his index finger. It was a tell that Lister recognised from all the times they’d played poker.

“You don’t need to lie about it,” Lister’s voice was so much softer than usual. “It’s alright. It’s perfectly normal after all you’ve been through.”

“I told you, I’m not-” Rimmer started to defend, but Lister interjected, “ _ It’s all my fault, _ ” he parroted what he remembered from the hologram’s outburst last night. “ _ Failure, failed, they’re all dead… _ you’ve been saying that stuff for weeks now. And don’t keep denying it, cos it’s not gonna work this time. You were in a real state last night, man. I heard you crying…”

“I was not crying!” Rimmer barked, mortally offended. He knew this to be untrue, but the fact Lister had caught him made him indignant. “I was just- I… I wasn’t crying.”

“It’s alright,” Lister soothed, wearing a smile that was warm and not condescending. But Rimmer wasn’t one to easily let his guard down. He knew if he told Lister how much he’d been suffering for these last few weeks he’d never hear the end of it. He’d be mocked for eternity. Weak little Rimmer, can’t even keep his emotions in check. Sure, it was easy enough done in the daytime, but his pathetic mind always betrayed him at night. Rimmer knew he should have switched rooms when these nightmares had started, especially when Lister first confronted him about it. One part of Rimmer justified that his switching of rooms would have made Lister even MORE suspicious, and that he hoped to just wait this phase out without the scouser ever becoming wise to the truth.

But another, much repressed part of Rimmer knew the real reason - he WANTED to be found out. Alone in deep space was one thing, but trapped inside Rimmer’s psyche was another. He needed a vent, an outlet. And everything he’d bottled up until now had relentlessly started spilling out at the seams in the form of loud and disturbing nightmares.

“You can tell me,” Lister quietly encouraged, his voice not much beyond a whisper. “I know, it’s normally hard for ya, this time of year. I just… I want you to know you can talk to me.”

Finally, Rimmer found the courage to meet Lister’s eyes, and found they were earnest.

Still, he’d been bitten before. People who say they care but laugh behind your back.

But there was something about Lister’s earnest eyes that made Rimmer want to believe this time.

So, with a reluctant sigh, Rimmer forced his mind to replay last night’s nightmare. It was a similar variant to the one that had been running through his head for weeks now.

He was in the drive room. The crew were piles of ash scattered around on the floor. Lister was standing there, huddled over one of the ash piles. He never said it, but Rimmer innately knew that it was Kochanski’s.

Then Lister’s furious eyes would lift and glare a hole through Rimmer’s hologramatic skull.

“It’s your fault they’re dead,” he would say, venomously. “Why did it have to be you?”

Rimmer would back away, stumbling carelessly into another ash heap as he did. “I didn’t mean-!” he would lamely try to defend. “I’m sorry Lister. I’m so sorry…”

Then his parents would walk up behind him, his father shaking his head with unfathomed disapproval. “Useless,” he would chide. His brothers materialised beside him, and the choir of taunts began. “Useless, failure, pathetic, hopeless…” all the words that ran through his mind on a daily basis when he anxiety came to the forefront.

Then there was the wall of fire. He’d always wake up with a jolt right before it hit him. Curiously, that didn’t happen last night.

In vague terms and with a faux-uninterested tone, Rimmer relayed parts of the nightmare, leaving out Lister’s involvement. But almost like he could read his mind, Lister pressed, “So why were you apologising to me then?”

Rimmer blinked. “Come again?”

“Last night, you said you were sorry to me,” Lister repeated, and for a brief moment, Rimmer’s nightmare and the real world collided, a flash of darkness descending upon the room. Gulping, Rimmer averted his gaze. “I don’t remember,” he lied.

Lister started to open his eyes to rebut the lie, but Rimmer jumped in first. His tone was solemn and quiet as he asked, “Why did you get in my bunk?”

Now it was Lister’s turn to look away embarrassed, though he tried to hide it with a nonchalant scratch of the back of his neck. “It was all I could think to do,” he admitted. “I thought it might help calm ya down.”

It’d worked. Lister knew that - the hologram’s sleep was soundless from there on in. Rimmer knew that too, having not been jolted awake by the nightmare’s usual conclusion.

The two stared at one another, silently knowing the other knew, but realising they were encroaching upon a line in the sand. Clearing his throat, Rimmer was the first to stand, fixing his shirt in the mirror. “Yes, well, how about you stick to your own bunk from now on. I don’t want mine smelling of curry and stale lager, thank you very much.”

Lister smiled, faintly. This was as close to a ‘thank you’ as he would get.

He got up from the table, making his way to the door with the intent to scrounge for a proper breakfast. Once he reached the door frame, he turned and peered back over his shoulder slightly and said, “You can always talk to me, man.”

Then Lister was gone, and Rimmer was alone. But not quite as alone has he’d been yesterday.

**Author's Note:**

> Sendorma is Esperanto :) One day Rimmer will learn...


End file.
